The Jibbs Collection
by NerdyJibbsOreo
Summary: Various one-shot moments between Jenny and Jethro that are all unrelated to each other. Good for a quick dose of Jibbs.
1. Socially Inept Jethro

_All rightly, folks! This is going to become a place for various, small, one-shot Jibbs stuff I write. They will all be unrelated to each other. In some they won't be together, in others they will. Some will be funny, some sad, some dramatic, some ridiculous. It just depends on my Jibbs mood. None of them will probably contain any actual plot. Essentially, they are just for a quick dose of Jibbs. Moving on, since I'm sure you get it. _

_So here we go with the first one. I needed some Jibbs banter in my life and this is what came out. I miss these two._

* * *

"I swear to God you are the most socially inept person on this planet!" Jenny blurted out after she violently shoved her office door closed behind them.

He winced. She had practically dragged him upstairs, walking behind him, where he could feel her glare burning his back. He was positive if other people hadn't been around she may have actually pulled a gun out and pointed it at him as he walked just for extra measure.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She demanded, flinging her arms around.

He had to bite back the snarky comment that came to his mind, knowing it would only dig him deeper into her wrath. In fact, he didn't think there was anything he could say, so he shrugged.

Her eyes popped and her nose flared, and he realized his shrug was not going to suffice.

"It's not that bad," he reasoned.

If glares could kill, he'd be dropping dead right at this moment.

She cursed under her breath and turned away from him, muttering to herself as she kicked her heels off, the sharp objects flinging across the room and hitting the wall with a bang.

He turned his head slightly, looking to the door behind him, realizing this would be a good moment to escape. Her back was turned and her heel weapons were disposed of. He was about to turn when her sigh stopped him.

It would have been a stupid idea anyway. He knew she had a gun strapped on her somewhere, as well as a knife. If he had left she probably would have chased him down with both in her hands.

He watched her sit down behind her desk and put her head in her hand.

"Why? Just...why? Why do you make things so much more complicated than they need to be?" She groaned, moving her hand and looking back up at him.

His eyes darted to the floor, feeling almost guilty by how tired she suddenly looked and sounded. He tried to formulate a good response in his head, but he really wasn't good with words, especially when someone was confronting him.

He shrugged again, feeling like he was a 6-year-old being scolded by his mother.

She sighed even louder and he looked up to see her covering her face again.

"Please, can't you just play nice with others? Do you always have to piss off every single agency that ever talks to you? Don't you realize that when you demean a member of the CIA like that, that they will go to their Director, which means their Director will come to me, which means that I end up being the one who has to kiss their ass and assure them that my arrogant bastard of an agent will never do it again? I know you think I get off on kissing ass and playing politics, but I _really _don't, especially in situations where I shouldn't have had to in the first place."

He knew she was right. He knew he was in the wrong. Still…

"CIA started it, 's my case," he muttered.

She groaned.

"If you were as territorial with your women as you are your cases, you wouldn't have so many divorces and failed relationships," she snapped.

"Hey," he protested with a glare.

"It's true and you know it. We'd probably still be together."

"You're the one that left."

"And you let me go," she shot back. "If I had been a case, you would have come running after me, come hell or high water. You wouldn't have just given up and moved on to some other woman like you did."

He threw up his hands, not even wanting to go into that territory. They were entering truly deep waters that he didn't have patience to try and tread right now. He was honestly a little stung that she didn't realize just how much he had been hurting after she left the way she did.

"We done here?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Not remotely. You owe me and Brenner from the CIA an apology."

He glared even harder at her, despising the satisfied smirk she had. He didn't like that she had the power to order him around or punish him when he ticked her off. He didn't like that she knew just what kind of punishments to come up with. He didn't like that she could sit back and feel amused by said punishments.

He didn't like that she had the power to _win_.

And that was when he realized he wasn't going to let her win, not this time. Oh no. He wasn't apologizing to anybody.

"Nope," he finally said, giving her a smirk as he turned around to face the door.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

He turned the handle and went out the door with a wide grin on his face.

Cynthia gave him a suspicious look as he went out the door, clearly not trusting how amused he look.

"Special Agent Gibbs!" Jenny shouted from her office.

He chuckled to himself as he padded along the carpeted catwalk, heading towards the stairs.

He'd barely made it past the top step when he suddenly heard the sure sound of her heels walking across the carpet behind him...and walking _fast_.

How the hell had she managed to get up, retrieve her heels, and make it out to where he was so quickly?

His mind started to register that perhaps this hadn't been his best idea. He paused for a split second, not daring to look back, debating his options. He shouldn't have gone the stair route, he should have taken the elevator on this floor to make his escape. It was either go down the stairs and cause a scene in front of his team and everyone else, or face the inevitable where he was. He really didn't like being scorned by Jenny in front of anyone else...

"_Leroy Jethro Gibbs._"

He winced.

He wasn't sure he actually had the guts to turn around and face her, so he stayed glued to where he was, gripping the stair rail with one hand for dear life.

"Back in my office. _Now_."

The way she growled in such a quiet tone alerted him to the fact that he may be facing his death the minute they were behind closed doors. He grit his teeth, trying to remember the best ways to calm down Jenny. Unfortunately, the only ones he had managed to utilize successfully in Paris would not be useful now. She'd probably castrate him and have him sit through a sexual harassment course.

He felt her tug him backwards by his collar, and he grudgingly accepted his fate and followed her back. He should have known better than to be surprised after she gave him a good headslap the minute she had him trapped in her office again.

* * *

"What the hell do you think he did?" Tony whispered.

"Your guess is as good as mine," McGee answered.

Ziva chuckled.

"Whatever it was, I know the Director has been having fun," Ziva muttered, giving a slight indication with her head.

The boys eyes darted up to where she had indicated, seeing the Director up on the catwalk, a beaming smile on her face as she looked down at where Gibbs was as she headed towards MTAC.

The three of them looked back at Gibbs, where he sat on his desk, almost very literally buried in paperwork. He had folders scattered all over his desk, piled high, surrounding him. The three of them were watching from Tony's desk, all pretending to consult each other on a case. They all heard Gibbs growl at something in frustration and they all turned, facing their bodies away from him and towards the large window instead.

"It's been three days," Tony whispered. "Either he got drunk and tried to jump her, or she cashed in on some huge favor he owed her."

"Probably just pissed her off," McGee grumbled.

"Yeah, well, it's weird. The guy barely talks as it is, but he literally hasn't said a single word to any of us since he started living at his desk. And then all the Director does is tell us he's going to be busy with important paperwork for a few days so we're on our own unless a critical case comes up. It's mysterious. There's gotta be something real juicy to all of it."

"Really?"

They all cringed, each turning slowly to see their boss standing behind them beside Tony's desk.

"I'll bet that's what people say when they read about the lead agent who snapped and throttled another certain 'special' agent for no reason."

McGee and Ziva shot each other a smirk, while Tony adjusted his collar and gave a cough.

"Sorry, boss, I'll just—uh, get back to work..."

"Sounds like a damn good plan, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped, turning to head to the elevator.

They watched as their boss stopped abruptly before he could press the button, turning slowly back to them all. McGee and Ziva stood up straight and started to head to their desks as Gibbs marched back into the bullpen, a murderous glare on his face.

"If the Director asks where I am, tell her I'm on a coffee run," he growled at them all. He glanced up, the hint of a smirk flashing across his face. "If that isn't a good enough answer for her, tell her she can take a good look up her—"

"I'm sure you don't want to finish that sentence."

They all looked up to the catwalk stairs, seeing Jenny leaning against the railing as she looked down on them all.

"Unless you feel like you don't have enough paperwork, then by all means," she said, quirking an eyebrow at him as she smirked.

They didn't miss the vicious glare he shot back at her.

"But don't worry, Special Agent Gibbs, your team will no longer need to inform me as to your whereabouts. Enjoy your coffee break."

There was silence as they all observed the silent battle between the two leaders. The tension was like fire and ice. Gibbs finally broke eye contact, glaring at his team members before he grumbled and shuffled back to elevator, jabbing the button as he muttered under his breath. The Director looked quite proud of herself as she turned to head back up the stairs.

The minute Gibbs was taken away by the elevator and they knew Jenny was back in the confines of her office, Tony piped up again.

"Yup. He got drunk and tried to jump her. Only explanation,"

Ziva rolled her eyes while McGee shook his head. Still, they'd be lying if they said they weren't starting to think Tony was on to something.

Fifteen minutes later their boss came storming back in with his cup of coffee, glaring up at the redheaded Director who was back on the catwalk awaiting his arrival.

"Socially inept my ass," he muttered, garnering curious expressions from his team.


	2. Pregnant Jenny

"Do you even love me anymore?" she questioned in a sob, her face covered by her hands.

He would have laughed if he wasn't so taken aback and confused. He still wasn't sure how they'd gotten here in the first place.

"What?"

She just sobbed even more, her body shaking.

"Jen, Jen, it's okay, c'mere," he soothed, pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her. He rested his chin on her head as she cried.

He wasn't quite sure how to proceed or how to soothe her. She was being irrational, and he knew it was because of her pregnancy hormones. He was relieved she was due in a few weeks, because he wasn't sure how much longer he, how much longer she—how much longer _they—_could take this.

"Jen, 'course I love you. What makes you think I don't?"

"Because I'm fat and ugly and I burnt dinner and you haven't even tried to get into my pants in over a week and I can't seem to please you anymore," she vented in one long breath before she went back to crying.

He raised his eyes to the sky, hugging her a little tighter as he considered what to say. He had come home from work and cracked a joke about her cooking skills, not realizing that she was on edge, and now here they were. She had never been someone who cried before. It's like the baby had it in for her.

She wasn't fat or ugly, he didn't give a damn if she did burnt dinner every night, and he hadn't tried to have sex with her because the last time he tried she snapped at him and said she'd let him know when she was in the mood. So he'd been waiting for the green light. Not like he was dumb enough to point that out right now.

"Hey," he said softly, nudging her head up to look him in the eyes, wiping her tears away and cupping her cheek. "You're beautiful. You always will be. And I'll never stop wantin' to get in your pants."

She chuckled, giving him a watery-eyed smile before she wiped her runny nose off with her sleeve.

"You sure about that?" she asked.

"Positive. Wouldn't have married ya if I didn't think that. Wouldn't be fair for me to marry someone I'd never wanna have sex with."

"Such a charmer," she said with a roll of her eyes.

He gave her another squeeze and kissed her forehead.

"How 'bout I go grab us some dinner. You want Chinese? Mexican? Thai? Burgers? Pizza?" he offered, knowing she hated going out these days. She was always tired.

"I don't know," she said, looking troubled.

He wasn't surprised, she was more indecisive than she used to be. Pregnancy brain was also taking a toll on her.

"Well, I'll go work on the boat a little while you decide. Let me know what you and the baby want when you're ready." He let his hand brush across her stomach before he headed through the basement entrance.

He took his blazer off and set some tools out when he got downstairs, taking a good look at the frame to decide what he wanted to start on first. He got to work and got into a good rhythm, surprised she hadn't come down yet. Usually, it seemed like when he finally got started she managed to interrupt him. Whether it be talking about work, asking him to do something, wanting to watch something with him, or distracting him in other—_more interesting__—_ways.

When he managed to get up a good sweat and found his polo to be covered in sawdust, he furrowed his eyebrows and checked his watch. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw that almost an hour had passed. He stood still and listened, realizing he hadn't heard her moving around in quite a while. Perhaps she was reading in bed? Or fussing with things in the nursery again?

He dusted himself off and put his tools down, stretching for a second before he headed up the stairs. He came back into the kitchen entrance and was about to grab a glass of water, when his eyes landed directly ahead to the couch in the living room.

He slowly made his way into the living room, his lip quirking up at the sight of his wife, dead asleep on the couch in a sitting position, her head tilted back on the upper cushion while her legs were spread out in front of her on the coffee table. A book was laying across her pregnant belly.

He smiled, taking in the sight for a minute before he went to her side and reached behind the couch, grabbing the folded blanket they kept there. He spread it out shook it a bit, moving the book off of her and placing it on the coffee table before he draped the blanket across her. He watched the blanket rise with her massive belly as she breathed. He leaned forward and put his hand on the side of her head, brushing her red bangs aside with his thumb, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered open a little and she stared at him for a second, clearly still groggy and mostly asleep.

"Jen, I'm gonna go grab dinner, okay? I'll save you some, you can eat it when you wake up," he whispered.

Her eyes closed again and she sighed, shifting a little.

"Green curry," she mumbled, getting comfortable, placing a hand over her belly protectively.

He chuckled and nodded.

"Thai food it is," he muttered. "I'll be back soon."

She mumbled something incoherent and he shook his head in amusement. He went back into the basement to grab his blazer and then headed back up, shooting another smile towards his wife and unborn child as he walked through the living room to the front door. He grabbed a jacket off the coat hanger and opened the door, stepping out into the cool darkness. He double checked that he had his keys and then locked and closed the door.

"I'm a lucky man," he muttered to himself, smiling as he headed for his truck.


	3. Food Crisis

She was going to find him, and she was going to _kill _him. It was the end of Leroy Jethro Gibbs as the world knew it.

She'd come home from the office, feeling exhausted, looking forward to the leftovers she knew she still had from her takeout yesterday, only to open the fridge and not find them. When she looked to the garbage can at her right, she noticed the empty boxes in there. Jethro had eaten _her_ leftovers.

She had taken a breath—it wasn't the end of the world, it was fine. There wasn't anything interesting to eat in the house right now, but she could find something to scrounge up. Then, she remembered the slice of cake she'd brought home from Abby's birthday bash at the office a couple of days ago, and thought that would be a perfect way to satisfy the craving she'd had all day for something sweet and sugary.

Then she'd looked on the counter behind her where she had placed it the other day, only to find nothing. Upon inspection of the garbage again, she'd found the tiny plate with frosting and crumb remnants, along with the scrunched up sheet of plastic wrap that had covered it.

_That_ was when she decided Jethro was a dead man.

Clearly, he had too much fun hanging around the house on his day off. She, meanwhile, had been slaving away at the office all day, stuck in MTAC for hours watching tense operations. She was running on little sleep, because he had kept her up most of the night. Sure, it had been a more than enjoyable night for her too, but he was the one who had gotten to sleep in while she had to get up early for work. But she had gotten through it, putting on her smile and wearing her usual diplomatic attitude, surviving a day that seemed determined to test her patience at several turns.

But this was the limit.

She was tired. She was hungry. And it was all _his_ fault.

He had taken her sleep. He had taken her food. He had taken her cake.

She stalked past the fridge into the little laundry room and turned to the basement door, her eyes locating him instantly, only to see him holding an empty glass container that used to have bourbon in it and chuck it into his little garbage bin.

The bourbon that she had bought...the bourbon that was _incredibly_ expensive. Sure, it had been almost empty last she had some, but that little bit should have been finished off by her, not _him_.

She had been wrong before. Now she really wanted him dead.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.

He looked up in surprise.

"Bad day at work?" he asked with a smirk, turning to whatever he was doing with the boat tonight.

_He should be cowering. He should be begging for his life. _

"Did someone teach you growing up that it's fine to consume what isn't yours?" she snapped.

He looked back up at her, his eyes narrowing, clearly trying to figure out what was wrong. He was silent for a few seconds, looking baffled.

"What?"

"My leftover food. My cake. My bourbon," she growled.

Understanding dawned on his face and he went back to what he was doing again.

"Well?" she snapped, her eyes popping.

"We got the takeout together, and you ate part of mine. You didn't touch that cake for two days and insisted you were off sugar, so I figured someone may as well enjoy it. The bourbon, well, you owe me," he said with a shrug, smirking as he blew sawdust off a rib.

She wondered if he was was simply stupid or if the sawdust had gone to his head and given him a brain injury. Clearly, he wasn't taking this seriously.

"You ate my food. The food I was looking forward to eating when I got home from work today, unlike you," she snarled.

"You eat my food all the time," he muttered, still ignoring her.

"_Excuse me_?"

"Nothin'," he said loudly, turning to look at her.

They both glared at each other, neither willing to put aside their stubborn attitudes. They'd been here several times before, and it always ended up in some kind of verbal fight.

It was then that she realized she didn't have the energy to deal with that tonight. Instead, she decided to take the mature way out of this, since she knew he was in the wrong. She'd be the adult.

She pulled off her heels and flung one of them as hard as she could in the direction of the boat—striking one of the ribs forcefully, causing a tiny piece of wood to chip off and go flying. She took pride in the way Jethro had flinched away in pure terror at that second.

"What in the _hell_?!" he shouted.

She turned around and stormed off as he rushed to inspect the injury on his precious boat. She hoped she hurt it. She gripped onto the other heel in her hand, glaring as she marched through the kitchen and headed into the living room.

"Jen?"

She ignored his shout for her, hearing him head her direction.

"Hey!"

She walked faster, going to the stairs. She heard him running and she turned halfway up the stairs to face him as he reached the bottom of them, holding her other heel up menacingly. He flinched and dodged to the side, holding his arms in front of his face. She smirked.

"Jeez, what's the matter with you, woman?"

"Me?" she yelled, pointing to herself hysterically. "What's the matter with you?" she shot back, pointing at him with the heel, making his eye twitch.

"Somethin' bad happen at the office? You're actin' crazy."

She laughed.

"Ohhh, you haven't even seen crazy from me yet, but you eat my food again and I _promise_ you'll get a taste."

She turned and marched up the rest of the stairs, hearing him mutter under his breath what sounded like "women" and "hormonal" and "psycho". She threw her heel behind her and heard him yelp. She hoped it hit him somewhere unpleasant.

"I'm ordering some food," she announced. "You touch a single piece of it..." she trailed off in a growl.

She didn't care that she was being unreasonable. She didn't care if she was acting "crazy" or "psycho." She'd be damned if he thought he could lounge around all day and eat her food when she was stuck working.

Perhaps she would have mercy when the pizza arrived and share it with him. No matter how much he ticked her off, she still loved him. She just hoped in the meantime he would think about the merits of not touching her food, or at least pretending to be apologetic when he did manage to piss her off.

She grinned, suddenly realizing that she had the day off tomorrow while his team was stuck working the early morning weekend shift. She was going to be the one keeping him up tonight.


	4. Just Solitude

_A/N: Hello, hello. It's been a while. This was based off of a conversation I had this morning with my dear friend and fellow writer, JamJar98. So blame her for this dose of sadness. Also, go check out her new and beautiful Jibbs long fic, Tougher Than The Rest._

* * *

There weren't set rules. There were no expectations.

It was just sex.

Or, at least, that's what she had tried to convince herself—and what they'd silently agreed to in their own way.

It hadn't taken long after she came on as Director for them to end up sinfully sweaty and tangled again. And by long, that meant within two hours of them making eye contact again. His quick stop at his house to "change" had resulted in a car ride with too much privacy and close proximity, and before she knew it she had been helping him tear off his clothes by the time they'd gotten inside his front door. It had been a heated rekindling, but neither of them really acknowledged it.

It happened on random occasions after that, when one or both of them was clearly craving release. She tried to ignore the feelings she still had, tried to ignore how right it felt. It couldn't work, not with her position, and not with the heaviness of the past lingering over them. She figured they could both just enjoy the old fun of it all without getting too attached. She rejected any advances he tried to start to further things, and tried to disregard how jealous and frustrated she felt when she would see him with any other woman.

It was perfect. They could enjoy screwing each others brains out without having to worry about being hurt again. That's what she had thought, at least.

She was always naive when it came to him. He was her blind spot.

When she'd been taken hostage that year and he'd rescued her, he showed up at her house that night and made love to her in a way he hadn't all year. She couldn't ignore the care he showed in his touches and his embrace. He'd stayed the night, and she knew they were quickly reaching the end of being able to ignore what was going on between them. It was time to make a choice again, and she'd grappled with her feelings of what to do all night while he slept on his stomach beside her, his arm draped heavily over her abdomen. She remembered watching him and running her fingers through his hair. She could still feel the warmth of his skin next to hers when she closed her eyes, could still feel the rough softness of his hair in her fingers.

She knew that night that she wanted him in her life—she also knew she'd worked her ass off to get where she was with her job. But she couldn't bear the thought of ending things again, of being away from him again. Still, she needed to sort everything out at work. They'd made love again in the morning, and when he'd given her that look, clearly asking her what they were, she told him she needed time. She remembered the frustration and sadness in his eyes, but there was still hope, and he'd given a nod and accepted the answer.

A week later, everything changed.

That damn explosion.

He'd nearly died, and he'd ended up in that coma. She'd spent all that time in the hospital with him, holding his hand, crying, worrying. It scared her to death. She had wondered why she hadn't taken him up on his offers, why she hadn't spent the kind of time with him that she should have. The regret was intense. Seeing his body that had been so confidently making her writhe a week ago suddenly look so fragile and damaged was intense. It was a harrowing ordeal she never wanted to repeat.

She'd realized that time was a wasted concept. She didn't need time—she needed him. All she could do was hope he would come out of it and get better, so that she could embrace their second chance with everything she had.

Much to her relief he had woken up and was all right, barring the severe memory lapse. That first time she'd visited him, he'd at least remembered that they'd made love. She wasn't sure if he was remembering Europe or if he was remembering something from the last year—but it was a start.

The one thing that was certain was that his dead family was fresh in his mind, and he was the one who needed time. She needed to be patient, to give him space and recuperate. She was sure the years and memories would come back eventually. It would probably take some rebuilding to get where they had been before, but she was willing to wait and try.

And then he'd left.

Months of agonizing waiting. Wondering how he was. Worrying about him.

She'd tried to get a couple of calls through to him, but it was in vain. There had come a point when she realized he may never come back and that she may need to move on. Todd had relentlessly pursued her so she'd given in, but he hadn't proved to be a useful distraction. All she could think about, all she wanted, was Jethro.

Jethro.

She stood where she was now, watching him with his new plaything. Colonel Bitch Mann.

Jethro had come back a few months ago, and things had been awkward and tense. She wasn't sure how much he actually remembered. He'd denied remembering Serbia and had gotten short about it, but then he'd given her that picture.

She had spent his first couple of months back trying to be patient and not push any boundaries, but he was about as warm to her as the bodies in autopsy. She started to wonder if all he remembered was the way she left him and the times she denied him. Did he remember any of the good times they shared? Did he even remember the last time they'd made love?

It didn't seem to matter what he remembered, because it didn't take long after he met the blonde to start shacking up with her instead. She wondered how much any of it even meant to him.

It had been quite the paralyzing shock when it hit her that she didn't have him anymore. It was over. All she had left was her job and the memory of her murdered dad.

So she threw herself into her work. She threw herself into her dad's revenge.

But all she felt was emptiness.

So here she stood in solitude, watching him with another woman, wondering why she hadn't done things differently when she'd actually had chances with him. Wondering if she was doomed to never feel his touch again, doomed to forever subsist in the hollowness of this void.

She watched as the other woman laughed and he chuckled in return. She knew he was aware that she was watching, and it hurt that he made a point to ignore her gaze entirely. She ripped her eyes off of the scene down in the bullpen and headed back into the lonely confines of her office.

There may not have been set rules or acknowledged expectations, but there were certainly consequences.

It had never been just sex.


End file.
